Escape
by Tinkerpanda
Summary: Beaches and Margaritas for Samtastic


_I hate writing summaries with a passion unmatched by anything but my disdain for the Toronto Maple Leafs. _

_Essentially this is my take on what happened in Sam's vacation in Season 2 after he and Jules break up (They mention it in, uhm, Remote Control and again in Perfect Storm). What happened between beaches and margaritas, in a manner of speaking. It's a bit tortured/emo Sam but ... well, I wrote it while drunk (correction: piss-faced) on V-day in honour of Single's Appreciation Day (which falls on Feb 15th, ironically). So that's kind of explanatory._

_Anyway, hope you enjoy. As always I don't own Flashpoint, CBS, Ion, CTV, the actors, the characters, a beach at cancun or the deed to the writers' souls.  
_

The sun, blood red in the cloudless sky, beat down on the white sand beaches. It scorched the pasty-white tourists, spread on neon towels beside the crystal-like water. Children splashed in the warm shallows, kicking up walls of water and diving underneath the surface searching for shells. Behind him the walls of the resort towered above the tropical landscape, glinting metal and glass reflecting the pure blue sky and ocean waters. The lush grounds were spread beneath the domineering building, dotted with palms and riotously flowering bushes. The carefully manicured paths all wound down to the beach, where the Atlantic lapped against the golden banks of sand.

It was, in the most general sense, what he'd wanted. Mindless warmth to bleach clean the memories – an escape from the life he'd built.

And now that he was here he couldn't help but think that he'd gone completely and totally nuts. It was, quite clearly, the only reasonable explanation for why he was here instead of cursing Ontario sludge and freezing winds, lying on a rooftop holding the sierra position. Or breaking in the door of some crackshack in Regent Park. Or taking down a guy wielding a gun in a Starbucks because the barista gave him decaf with the rest of Team One. _That _was his place. _That _was where he belonged.

Not on some broiling strip of sandy coast, baking away his problems.

And _oh_ did he ever have problems.

He sat roughly on the sand, stretching his legs out and wriggling his feet in the hot sand.

She was coming back. There was no question. Donna was good. She had a deadly accurate shot. She could take down the hulking street-muscle they frequently encountered. She was smart, she was empathetic. Donna was damned good at the job. But Jules would requalify. And she was all that and more. She was family. She was _Jules_.

He very nearly scoffed. It was pathetic – absolutely pathetic – the way that her name could still make his heart thunder. His hands clenched in anger, trapping handfuls of sand between his fingers. Lifting his fists he watched as the grains trickled out, falling back to the beach and merging with those pristine-white banks. He opened his gritty palms, now empty, and felt his anger drain.

He wasn't sure he could handle her return. He wasn't sure he could work alongside her every day and, at the end of the day, be nothing more. He needed to get a reign on those feelings. Needed to yank them back under control.

She wasn't to blame, really. As much as he wanted to hate her, she was being realistic. They knew they couldn't hide it any longer. And they wouldn't be allowed to stay in the SRU, let alone on the same team, if Holleran became aware they were involved. She was, in every sense protecting them both. But that didn't stop the aching in his chest whenever he thought of her.

He'd never had his heart broken before. He wasn't the kind of guy, he supposed, that fell in love often. His bad luck that the one time he'd taken the plunge it had to be her. He'd been dumped before, sure, but he'd never felt that awful, crushing feeling when the person you love turns their back. When they can't give you what you need or what you want. Somehow it was even worse because, unlike any other woman who could have just walked out of his life – she was a permanent fixture. She was there to stay. And he couldn't do anything about it.

He didn't trust himself to be able to hide it yet. Parker knew about their relationship – he'd been keeping a keen eye on them, looking for faults or cracks and Sam knew wouldn't be able to hide them. Not yet. Not with the bruises so close to the surface. Not with the hurt so raw.

What the bleeding fuck was he supposed to do? He asked himself, shielding his eyes with his hand.

What did any man do when the woman he loved ripped his beating heart from his chest and stomped it into a million jagged little pieces?

He'd run. He sulked off to lick his freaking wounds like some pansy, lovestruck teenager. On a beach in Cancun. Good lord, what was he thinking? He buried his head in his hands.

What happens when she starts seeing somebody new – his mind ventured. He tried to swallow the bitter taste that rose in his mouth, swallowing hard against the anger that swelled up in his stomach. He struggled not to imagine her kissing another man. Turning to him at night. Waking beside him in the morning.

He pressed his fingers to his eyelids, willing the image of her wrapped happily around another man, now burned into his brain, to vanish.

Good lord.

Loving Julianna was torture.

He wearily rose to his feet, taking slow and steady strides across the damp shore to the water. He carefully shucked his sandals and his shirt, letting them drop, and stepped into the wake. The water, surprisingly chill, lapped at his ankles. He stepped deeper – and again. Until he had to tread water to keep his head above the surface. A wave swamped him, pushing him under. He didn't struggle against it. He let it drag him under.

It felt good – being enveloped in the water. Weightless and calm. The world mute around you. You didn't have to think. You didn't have to breathe. The world, a vibrant burst of colour – a mirage of shells and starfish. Of brightly coloured fish and weedy plants thrashing in the current. There was life here – even if there wasn't air.

Just as there was life, he supposed, without love.

He stayed down until his lungs screamed for air and, kicking the to surface, he sucked in a huge breathe as he broke through.

He could live without Julianna Callaghan's love. His life might be as bright or dazzling, he thought, carefully and slowly swimming back to shore. But he could live. He could hem in those feelings – he could tuck them away. He could survive not going home to her every night. He _had _to. He could live without her.

He grinned to himself.

After all - he was _the _Samtastic.


End file.
